The Hand of Innocence
by E.Qwerty
Summary: The pair ride off to Munich in search of suspected child snatchers. But a cross over stop in Paris causes problems neither of them could have predicted. What's hiding in the city of loves streets?
1. Chapter 1

**It's a serial! What am I doing? But it's so much fun writing for these guys. Don't worry there will be romance later, of course there will be, but until then enjoy!**

'I'm going to Munich' Sherlock announced as he dramatically swept through the doorway, never one to waste a moment of dramatics, he threw his coat onto his chair and took the stairs to his bedroom two at a time. I could hear him carelessly throwing his clothes around his room, some of them probably hitting the necessary goal that would be his suitcase. I took a hint and pulled up the pages up on my laptop that would allow my flatmate to defy physics and fly over to his wanted location.

My fingertips were hovering over the keypad as I decided whether my basic knowledge of European geography was enough to demonstrably know where Munich was with the help of a search engine, when a long sinewy hand crept past my head and I jumped.

'I'm not flying there, I'm getting the train, stopping over in Paris' Sherlock said, his face watching over my shoulder like a computer savvy raven, 'and I need two tickets'

'Why?' I asked watching as his fingers played across the keypad and wondering whether he was imagining playing his violin, all the vast knowledge the internet held, all those human lives merely something he could play, compose, make beautiful.

'Well where are you going to sit', he was entering his card numbers now, with a flick of his wrist he had pressed enter and he was back around the room, swinging his head from side to side for it would be too much energy to waste in turning his whole body.

'Me?' I said, I still hadn't caught up with his plans.

'Of course'

'But you said I'

'I means you and I, John' Sherlock said like it was the most obvious thing in the world before springing back up the stairs.

'Of course' I sighed, closing the laptop lid, wondering what the weather was like in Munich this time of year.

Three hours later we were sat on a train hurtling under the British Channel. Sherlock had spread all the papers that he had been able to get hold from the service cart across both our laps. He was currently perusing Le Figero and I was staring at a picture of two not unattractive, but rather unassuming women.

'So these two women have been accused of taking children from care homes in England and selling them to what? Families? A crime syndicate? In Germany?' I said, my brow had been furrowed since the tickets had been booked.

'Or giving them to a religious cult, yes, these are the conclusions that are being drawn by the media and the police. And when confronted by the straight facts it's what any normal human would assume'

'But you don't agree'

'Obviously' Sherlock reached across my lap and pulled out the very bottom lying newspaper, grazing my thigh in the process and sending a shower of papers onto the floor. I stooped to pick them up.

'What do you see that makes them so different?' I asked resuming reading the article about Miss Susan Forester and Mrs Holly Fawkes, there had so far been six children who disappeared from the area of Headingly wherein the women lived. They had vanished with no sign of struggle, no glimpses on CCTV. The paper I was reading was describing them as 'modern day child snatchers, complete with their very own Chitty - Chitty Bang-Bang' and indeed the car they drove was painted a myriad of different colours, with what appeared to be a cage at the back.

'However you look at it, though, it is pretty horrid scenario. Children missing and these women's lives in ruin no matter what the outcome of the trail is.' I had finished reading the article and was again looking at those two women. They did not look like monsters, nor cartoon villains, but I had learnt early on not to trust my own verdict.

'That's immaterial', my companion mused. 'Look at this picture, what do you see.' I ignored his apparent callousness, these women were just more notes to be played in the symphony of this case. The picture he was indicating to was the one I had been looking at for some time. I could easily tell him what I saw. There were two women being lead out of the court room. Susan the younger of the two who although young, aged just 35, had an air about her that made her look at least twenty years older. She wore a brown ankle length dress, clean and unflattering, her body was slim, her posture hunched and her walk slow and clumsy, as the picture had been taken mid tumble. Her face, though, retained her youth, it was fairly round with a small nose and cheekbones that cut oddly through her otherwise bloated face. Her right hand was clasped to her throwaway mousy hair, her left hand reaching out to help regain her balance. Her wild eyes purged into the back of her accomplish. She looked frightened, but innocent.

Hollie on the other hand was wearing jeans and a checked shirt. She was of stocky build, aged 47, but her hair was steel grey. Her face was lined, her jaw over large, but her eyes were a vivid green and one could only describe them as kind. She was stood caught by the photographers, her left arm was raised as if to protect her stomach her right hand was ever so slightly behind her, her palm turned to her friend.

This I communicated to my travel companion is just so many words.

'Very astute John' Sherlock smiled slowly, lifting the paper out of my hands with his long white fingers.

'What did I miss?' I asked unashamedly excited to be shown the secrets that these women, and indeed all of us, unassumingly carried plastered to their appearance.

'Well, for one they are romantically attached, it happened by accident and neither of them were expecting it, and neither of them want to media to find out about it.'

'Sherlock!' I had to interrupt, I had heard him make some wild claims in our time together, but that was ridiculous, 'how can you _possibly _tell that from one picture?'

'Look at the way Hollie has turned her hand towards her companion and the way Susan cannot tear her eyes from her, I'd like you to find a non-romantic relationship that stirs that much intensity in a person's gaze'

'I suppose' I said, I was leaning on my friends arm as he held up the paper to explain his discoveries.

'Hollie is pregnant'

'That's a bit harsh Sherlock, sure she's not exactly a supermodel, but you can hardly call her fat'

'Don't be futile, John, look at the way her hand is protecting her stomach. We are lucky that this picture was taken at this moment, they are both shocked and tired from the trial, they have no energy to cover their tracks like they have been doing in all the other pictures. And their hands! Look at their hands! That's how I know they are innocent.'

'What?'

'Never mind, we've arrived.' Indeed we had people were shuffling out of their seats possessions in hand. 'Hurry, John, we need to sort out a hotel room for the night.'

'You didn't even sort out a room?'

'Where would be the fun in that. Plus we're in Paris, where better to be spontaneous!'

I eyed my colleague's back suspiciously while I tried to cram the papers into an orderly bunch, fearing that Sherlock would sprint off without me, I grabbed the picture that we had been studying and left the rest of the papers to drift to the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a wild blistering night in Paris women wrapped scarves around their necks and men tucked umbrellas unopened into their back pockets. We were in a taxi that was trapped in the traffic of the Champs-Élysées. We were protected; the berating wind could not reach us, I felt safe in that moment the forces of the world were outside and me and my friend were together, something in me I cannot tell what made me appreciate this, to treasure it. I shuddered, shivering from the roots of my hair, it shot through me, filling my extremities with an unnameable terror. For one second the lights of Paris seeped in complete despair. There was tightening on my shoulder. It was Sherlock.

'You've been to Paris before,' he stated, never one to make inane conversation, he was distracting me.

'Ha, yeah once'

'It didn't end well?'

'You could say that'

'Romantic weekend?'

'God, no, a stag party got lost, although you could say the Stag had unneeded romance that weekend. How could you tell I'd been here before?'

'You weren't staring like you never seen these sights before. And you were you registered surprise when you saw the glass fronted stores which wouldn't bother a new viewer of this scene, but it would blot the eyesight of a man who had seen this place in the years before they were allowed to build in such a way a few years ago.'

I smiled at the fact that my companion had been watching my reaction to this beautiful place rather than enjoying it for himself. Sometimes I felt like a Wi-Fi connector for him to the outside world, to the emotional world.

'Magnificent isn't it?' I said gesturing out the window. Onto the timeless canvas of the city that had been gloriously gilded by the modern world and technology.

'Yes, it is' Sherlock wasn't looking out of the window, but was still watching me. He wasn't glaring, but his face was soft in the way I had once seen him look at the night sky. Like he did not understand the complexities behind what he was viewing but in a world where he could decipher all the motives behind a human expression, having something that he could not understand, or did not need to understand was the most blissful thing in the world.

We shared a quiet moment of me watching the sights of France and Sherlock watching me. The traffic suddenly began to move quickly and Sherlock snapped back to his usual vigilant state.

'Tournez vers le bas ici' Sherlock told the taxi driver and we lurched down a dark cobbled alley. Sherlock had leaned forward his hand grapping the head rest of the seat in front sitting on the edge of his seat trying to pierce the darkness beyond the cab's head lights. He was instructing the driver where to go in French. Unable to understand I merely sat back and listening to his commanding tones I watched out the window as we slinked through the back streets of Paris.

Finally we stopped in what must be the darkest underbelly of the French Capital, there was a man slumped against the wall his eyes staring at no thing. Women lined the walls like terrible decorations, as if a sadist had decided that these poor women were not fit for anything but to be meat on display. There outfit made a dreadful mockery of any slight inclines of their beauty. There could be no doubt that these women worked for their livelihood

'Where are we Sherlock?' I whispered as the taxi made a hasty exit.

'Somewhere important.' He turned to look at me. 'John the place we are going is not pleasant, it may make you uncomfortable. But the information we will gather there will be crucial to solving this case. You must agree to some things'

'Ok' I was unsure and nervous of where he was going with this, but my friend had never been one to lead me wittingly into harm and the case needed to be solved.

'First you must not speak, do not let them know you are English, and second whatever happens in there where ever I lead you must follow and make sure nobody notices that you do not belong there'

These rules sounded fair though I had a slight shot of adrenaline as I tried to imagine what sector of society we were to mingle with.

'Agreed' I said.

The corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, unnoticeable to all but me, as he expressed his pleasure at my acceptance. And with no more of a word he swept down the alley lined with those haggard girls. They approached us as we past, but Sherlock ignored them instead he reached behind and took my hand. Instinctively I pulled it away, but he turned.

'John!' he said in a deep French accent, I was shocked for a moment at the accuracy he used his voice. It sounded like he had never set foot in England. But then I remembered the conditions of our adventure and lifted my hand into his. He swept an appraising glance down my body. His whole demeanour had changed, he was no longer my friend Sherlock, but an aggressively attractive French man, I was ashamed of the heat that was creeping up my arm from the contact of our hands. Luckily Sherlock was not looking as he was walking confidently towards a burnt red door.

There was a single man outside, clad in inconspicuous black clothing. He looked at us with an expression of intermediate indifference and curiosity. Sherlock exchanged with him in French. My basic understanding of the language could not carry me through what they were saying, when Sherlock indicated to me I made sure my face was as impassable as possible. The man's eyes stayed on me a long while, he took in our linked hands, and then resumed his natural stance leaning on the door. Sherlock pushed open that burnt red door.

I have no much stead for fortune telling or communication with the dead, but there was a growing dread in my stomach, a painful pressure, like my basic animal instinct were stirring; telling me to run. Above this my chest took a blow with the image of this door, dusty pictures of the doors of hell. Stories from ancient aunts in those tentative childhood years were blaring signals of 'turn around! Get out!'. Instead I followed Sherlock.

Inside was a dark room, small and smoky. Various dregs of society were pooling in the corners. Human figures that through the torment of their lives had lost their shape, lost their genders. There was human contact happening all around, none of in erotic, they were like lost children grasping at any formative shadows that could be confused as love. A hid a shudder of repulsion at the scene

Sherlock, unabashed by anything, strode through the room till he came to a green door at the end of the room.

Inside was a woman. She stood with her hands behind her back, stiff and striaght. She wore a blood red velvet suit. If circumstances had been different I would had laughed. But she turned her face hard and loveless. White skin, blue eyes and a hard mouth. As she glanced at us her lip curled back revealing small sharp white teeth, like a shark.

'Bonjour' she said, her eyes twitching between me and my partner. 'Sherlock Holmes'

If was me who was faster I pulled the gun from my waistband and fired into the woman's shoulder. She screamed and Sherlock was shaken from his shock. He turned and we ran from the room, stumbling over the bodies of those lying prostrate on the floor. Through the dark, smoky despair into the alley. Sherlock took the lead and I followed. Sprinting now, the echo of the shot beating at our heels. Turning, circle, running for an hour until Sherlock finally pulled to a stop. I collapsed at his feet, breathing hard. He crouched beside me pulling me into a seated position.

'John? John are you ok?'

'Yeah… thanks… they… knew…you' I gasped.

'Yes, this throws a spanner in the works; as they said' he smiled and waited for me to regain my breath. When finally I had he pulled me by my hands to my feet. The memory of his hand in mine before sent an electric shock through my body.

'Ermm… Sherlock?'

'Yes, John?'

'Why did you hold my hand when we went into that horrible place?'

Sherlock turned to me, he was close as he usually was. Normally I would not have noticed, but something in the air had changed. I flattered from his gaze and passed my discomfort off with a cough.

'You saw what it was like inside, I had to create the illusion of us being the type of clientele they would normally admit'

'You mean a gay couple'

'Well, yes and no. More like a couple who were not there simply to infiltrate there ranks'

'So you thought that by holding my hand you would be able to create the illusion. Wasn't it a bit risky not letting me know first, I mean those women saw that I pulled my hand away. Why didn't you just tell me what was going on? I don't even know now where we just went.'

Sherlock looked at me for a long time. His hesitancy was strange, he was quickly trying to respond in way that would answer all my questions and not displease me at the same time. He looked for a moment like a lost child and I wondered if he had taken my hand not to create an illusion, but more to have comfort as he walked into that heinous place.

'John', he said in that deep voice that he used when he was about to tell me something he thought would shake me. Like that time he had thought he was turning down my proposal of a relationship all that time ago in Angelo's. 'I could not have predicted what we would have found in that place and I had the sudden thought that us appearing as a couple would make us less conspicuous. I am sorry, but I did not think you would react that way.'

There was silence for a moment.

'Would you please let me know what we are trying to do, how does this all connect to those two women?'

'Let's go to the hotel, and then we will talk'

We walked in silence. Well, I say walked Sherlock walked and I followed. The silence was different than usual, far from the comfortable silence that followed our relationship. It seemed as though both of us were aware of it. It was a presence that was walking between us. We arrived at the hotel at four in the morning. It was small, tall and trapped between a bistro and a wine bar. They were still open at this time. A few words were exchanged with the manager before he threw Sherlock a key and lead us to the room.

As we were walking Sherlock stepped in beside me.

'I have booked us only one room. This was to keep up that pretence of a relationship that I hoped would protect our identities. I hope you will be ok with this'

'As long as I have a roof over my head I'm good' I smiled up at him. The corners of his mouth turned up to a little smile.

The room was small and dark. There was indeed only one bed, but there was also a winged back chair placed by the large window. The window was incredible gothic, with spotted glass and white curtains billowed in the slightest of wind. Outside there was a wall and the top most silhouettes of Paris. Sherlock perched himself in this chair. The usher had flicked the light on and left. The light hummed alive with the weakest throwing of light. I turned it off because the light was not as important, or worthwhile enough to suffer the insistent humming noise.

I fell on to the bed lying on my back staring at the now quiet ceiling fan. The grey shadow lying listless between the moving ghostly projections of the curtains.

From the corner of my eye I saw Sherlock steeple his fingers. He began to talk.

'The place we went to is a place I have been meaning to infiltrate for a long time. It is the centre of spiders web of crime. Mainly drug smuggling. They use children under the guise of school children on tours of Europe to take drugs over border. They have been doing rather well, no one suspects a coach full of school children. But those two women, Miss Forester and Mr Fawkes, they have created a crack. They are indeed a couple, obviously given their same sex paring they could not have children on their own so they wished to adopt. Given Mrs Fawkes previous minor miss demeanours they could not adopt from England so they chose to go abroad. And they must have stumbled on this organisation and they have been framed to draw attention away from them. Those two women never took any children knowing that they would be sold'

'What about this organisation? Surely we have to stop them'

'Indeed, we seem to be doing just that since you wounded one of their leaders. Though it does seem rather dangerous to be us at this moment.'

Sherlock moved from his seat to the door, he looked at me for a moment.

'There is something I need to find. Go to sleep, John, I will be back when you wake up.' Sherlock was a silhouette by the door, his coat fanned out behind him as he swept out of the room. I had some vague images of the spectre of death, of a black angel, before I fell into an uncomfortable sleep.

A bang and hands awoke me. Pulling me sweating from a dream and then forcefully from the room. Five masked men. My heart it hammered in my chest, my brain unable to understand the sudden and imminent danger forgot my feet and my toes burned as they were dragged across the carpet. My eyes searched for him.

'Sherlock!' I screamed. 'Sherlock!'

He was not there. He had not returned before I had awakened.


End file.
